


The Ghost Down Your Hallway

by Feelsripper



Series: The Fear [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Highschool AU, Prologue, coming of age stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelsripper/pseuds/Feelsripper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten year old Jean isn't looking forward to starting over in a new town, and a new house. What he doesn't realize is that there's a nasty surprise waiting for him in the basement that's just been dying to meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost Down Your Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a taste for a multi-chapter fic that's currently in the works. 
> 
> Shout out to Kitty Toast and Alkalyne for making this all possible. Without your support this would never have seen the light of day.

As they pulled up into the driveway of their new home, Jean could already tell he was going to hate it. It was one of those old stupid houses with historical significance, which meant no running down the halls, no yelling, and most of all no other kids. Not that he’d make friends this far out of town. His parents just _had_ to pick the house on top of the hill away from anything remotely interesting. He told them he wouldn’t make any friends this way but, no, of course _that_ didn’t matter.

 

The entire way down he refused to speak to either of his parents. Staring at the backseat was a lot more pleasant than talking to them, anyways. 

It annoyed him, hearing them whisper about him in the front seat. “Honey, do you think moving out here was a wise choice…? I mean, Jean is only ten and there aren’t really any other children out here…”

"This house is perfect for our needs! It’s gorgeous, and it’s cheaper than the homes closer to the city. Besides, Jean will make friends at school. If his attitude gets better, that is." 

He bristled at the comment. It wasn’t his fault all the other kids at his last school were stupid.

"Don’t say things like that! Jean’s just a special boy, that’s all." 

"If you keep pampering him like that, he’ll stay "special"."

If they were going to be so unpleasant about the move, maybe they shouldn’t have moved in the first place. 

The car slowed, and came to a halt. He sat up, and looked out the window. Apparently his parent’s dream home was really a rundown, old, ugly Victorian house. He could practically smell the dust and moth balls just from looking at it.

This was going to be the absolute worst. Knowing his luck, he’d probably step on a rickety floorboard and go plummeting to his death in that dump. 

Yet his parents seemed pleased with its shabby appearance and peeling paint. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. It was just a dumb, smelly, house.

His parents turned the car off, opened the car door, and made their way up to the house. Not Jean though, nope. They would have to drag him out of the car to get him into that deathtrap. 

Apparently his mom noticed that Jean hadn’t followed them out, and came back to get him. His dad was too busy unlocking the front door to notice. “Jean, sweetie, you have to get out the car.”

"I don’t want to." He crossed his arms and pouted. 

She hung her head in defeat, and let out a deep sigh. “I’ve been fighting you the entire trip about this place. Just give it a chance.”

"It’s not like I have a choice." He grumbled under his breath. 

"Jean Kirstein, I am sick of your bad attitude. You will get out the car, and help your father unpack. You will stop sulking this instant and be helpful. We’ve put up with your nonsense because we knew the move would be difficult, but you will straighten up and deal with it. Do you understand?”

Deep down he knew his parents were just as tired and upset as he was, but the words still stung. It wasn’t really a question as to where he got his brutal honesty anymore. 

"Yes Ma’am." He mumbled quietly, looking down at his shoes.

That seemed to put her at ease, and she let out a soft sigh. “That’s my Jean.” She planted a quick kiss on his forehead, before exiting the vehicle. 

With great reluctance, he pushed the door open. A light breezed danced over him, and the sun warmed his skin. At least it was pleasant out.

The trunk popped open, and he grabbed the lightest box he could carry before charging up the front steps of the house. He stepped into the entry hall, and immediately stopped. This place was huge. Cobwebs hung thick in the corners, and there was a thick layer of dust coating the floors. He looked up at the towering ceilings above him, a giant oval skylight adored with aged cherubs directly above him. He suddenly felt very tiny underneath the vaulted ceilings, and shuffled up rickety stairs. They groaned underneath his weight, which made him hurry up the steps faster. He was met with a long, seemingly endless hallway lined with rooms. 

This place would be perfect for hide-and-seek.

He began to poke through the first two rooms, listening for his parents footsteps down below. They shuffled back and forth to the car, each time their quiet voices echoing in the empty chambers below. Jean was only half listening, much too interested in the unexplored nooks and crannies of second story. 

"…I can’t believe this site was for sale. I mean, I know it needs a lot of work, but it’s a plantation house left over from the Civil War. It even has an intact second floor balcony…"

Gross. This place was also _educational_. Why did his dad have so be such a big nerd? 

"I doubted you at first, but the outdoor patio is what really sold me. Although I wonder how stable it really is. It takes up a good chunk of the second story floor, and this house is a fixer-upper….”

Jean closed the door to the first bedroom. It was getting hot and stuffy upstairs, and he ran to the next room in search of some relief. He immediately saw two large narrow windows, and opened them. Thankfully there was a nice strong wind outside that would cool down the place in no time.

Now that he thought about it, there probably wasn’t any air conditioning. They’d have to rely on the archaic vents above each door to move air through the house. It pained him that he actually knew that, but not as much that his family would _actually be using those stupid air shafts._

He wandered further down the hall, his parent’s voices becoming more muffled and distant.

"It’ll be fine. We already had an inspector come through, and we have all the contractors signed and ready for work."

"I just hope Jean adjusts to this place alright. It’s much larger than anywhere we’ve lived before."

They should have just asked him what he wanted _before_ the move. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about him so much now. He didn’t want to hear any more of their banter, and thus moved further down the hall.

As he was nearing the end of the hall, things grew unsettlingly quiet. He expected to hear some movement from down below, but it was dead quiet. It shouldn’t have been so still, even in a house like this.

With each step he took towards the final door his sense of dread grew.

He couldn’t quite place it, but something seemed off. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he had no idea why. He stole a glance down the hall again.

"Mom? Dad?"

No answer.

He looked back at the door, swallowing nervously. Jean had seen enough horror movies to know to know that if there was a strange door to leave it alone. There was something about this place that drew him in though, and although he knew better, grabbed the knob.

It was unnaturally cool.

His hand whipped back as if it had been burned.

Nothing.

He placed his hand back on the knob. If this were a slasher movie, this is the part where a serial killer would pop out and do the hero in.

Good thing crazy serial killers didn’t hide in old plantation homes.

At least, he hoped so anyways.

Curse his curiosity.

Against his better judgment, he pushed open the small door. Another set of stairs was revealed then, its narrow passage ways spiraling further down into the darkness. The air was cool and damp inside the stair well, and it made his skin crawl.

He stole one last glance down the corridor. “Mom? Dad?”

Again, No response.

He considered the very real possibility that if he went down the steps there was a good chance he’d never see his family again. After all, he was ninety-nine percent sure that he was going to die. However, there was still that lingering one percent where he would find a forgotten treasure that would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams.

No wait, maybe he was getting his movie genres mixed up now.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, and braced himself for the worst. Fortune or despair, he’d never know either if he didn’t take the leap.

So down he went, legs trembling every step of the way. He noticed right off the bat that the further down he went, the chillier it got. With the combination of the frigid air and the eerie echo of his footsteps he knew he’d stepped into a horror movie. Just his luck, there was probably a ghost down at the bottom of the stairs lying in wait. Finally, he hit the bottom step. The soft light of day poured in from behind him, attempting to permeate the vast darkness in front of him. It only went so far though, and the corners of the servant’s quarters were still shrouded in darkness. Part of him wanted to race back up the stairs and into the light, but there had to be some cool stuff down here. There just _had_ to be.

He gulped nervously, and hesitantly looked down at his shoes. He really hoped there wasn’t anything underneath the stairs.

Much to his relief, he only found a piece of paper sticking out of the steps instead. He grabbed it without a second thought. Could it be a treasure map? A clue?

Nope.

Of course not, nothing good ever happened to him. All he found was a boring old photograph of a soldier. At least, it was boring until he noticed the uniform. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

It was a civil war uniform. Which side, he couldn’t tell, since it really didn’t look like much of a uniform to begin with, but his dad was going to flip. Just what he needed, another reason for his parents to stay in this crappy place.

That’s when he first heard a quiet shuffling in the dark.

After that, he quickly forgot about the photograph in his hands. Rule of horror movies number one: always trust your gut. Every nerve was electric, heart pounding in his chest as he stared into the dark abyss.

"D-dad?"

It took every fiber of his being to keep from running back up the stairs right then and there.

Silence.

He stood, firmly planted to the last step.

"H-hello?"

The darkness answered.

"Go away."

Crap.

_Crap._

He needed to get up the stairs, run away as fast as he could, and tell his mom and dad to abandon this dump as soon as possible. There was no way he’d sleep in a house that was freaking _haunted_.

Except his body hated him, and he couldn’t move. His mind was reeling in terror as the shuffling became louder. Oh the scratching sounds seemed to move towards him.

He was really going to die, wasn’t he?

Just then a light bulb far in the back began to flicker. It was the only light bulb, and it was…broken.

Yet it flickered all the same, the dim light casting long shadows along the walls. Each time the light wavered the darkness seemed to move of its own volition.

Wait.

Was…

Was that…a person?

Oh holy god, it was.

A dark figure had begun to tear itself from the darkness, its limbs transparent with a ghostly hue about them.

It began to inch closer and closer to him, but there was something unnatural about the ghost’s movements. They weren’t unnatural in the typical ethereal sort of way, but more that they seemed forced; like they were trying too hard to be scary.

Once that realization set in, suddenly the light bulb and the shadows weren’t so scary anymore. In fact, it all seemed a little cheesy…

The figure suddenly leapt to his feet, and yelled. “Boo!”

Jean blinked.

Seriously? He felt ashamed for getting worked up in the first place, but this was just pathetic.

He blinked again. The person still had their arms raised, as if to scare him, and hadn’t moved.

"…Are…Are you supposed to be a ghost or something?"

Really? This is what scared him?

"A-Aren’t you scared?" The figure took a step back. Something about him was still a little blurry, but he thought he could make out a uniform of some sorts.

Oh.

He looked back down at the photograph tightly wrinkled in his hands.

He looked back up at his ghostly visitor. They matched.

"Well?" The figure waited nervously, wringing his hands.

"Hell no!" He shouted, perhaps a little louder than he should have. The ghost jumped at the volume. Seriously? The ghost was scared of him? “Dude, you’re so lame. I-I mean you had me going for a second with the scratching and the flickering lights but…seriously? You thought yelling ‘boo’ would be scary? How lame are you?”

Where was all this courage coming from? He hoped the spirit couldn’t see the quiver in his knees. Not that he was actually scared or anything, he was just surprised.

The ghost buried his face in his hands, “Ugh, I couldn’t scare the last home owners either!”

Jean rolled his eyes. This would happen to him. “I mean, you tried and all, which is good I guess. It means you can possibly get better, but you seem pretty hopeless…”

"You’re only eight, how can you already be so awful?"

"H-hey! I’m not eight, I’m ten! I’m just short for my age. I’ll be taller than you, you big bully!"

Much to his surprise, the apparition laughed. The sound was warm and genuine, yet Jean still jumped back. He didn’t think ghosts could laugh.

"I thought you weren’t scared?"

"S-shut up, I’m not! Besides, ghosts aren’t even scary! Zombies are way more frightening. I take it back, you don’t have a prayer." He puffed his cheeks out, turning away for a moment.

He may have bumped into the only friendly ghost in the universe, but it was still a ghost. Jean decided it was better to keep an eye on him, and turned his focus back to more important questions. He’d let that comment go…for now. “So…you aren’t going to eat me or anything, right…?”

"I don’t think ghosts can eat."

"How do you not know?!"

"They don’t exactly give you a book on the afterlife!"

Jean crossed his arms, frowning.

So. There was a ghost in his house, who was probably from the Civil War, who was dweebier than his dad. He wasn’t exactly sure if his life was looking up or down at this moment.

Suddenly he remembered the photograph in his hands. “H-hey is this you?” He held up the picture for the ghost to see.

For a moment, the spirit said nothing. He didn’t need to; the sadness in his eyes said all. “Where did you get this?”

"I found it down here."

The soldier floated awkwardly there for a moment, as if letting the photograph sink in.

"So, um, how long have you been down here anyways?" He tried not to stare, but the entire situation was so weird. He was talking to a ghost. An actual, real deal, _ghost._

"I don’t know." He shut his eyes, sighing softly to himself.

"Can you not remember?" 

"I don’t know."

"Okay, do you remember your name at least?" 

"Don’t know that either."

Frustrated, he turned back to the photograph. It was really dusty, and stained with grime and dirt. Despite that, he could still make out the sepia face gazing back at him. The soldier in the photo seemed a lot younger than the version before him. The person in front of him seemed to be a sad shade of the mirthful teen in the picture, and he felt a shred of pity for him. 

Just for a moment though. He turned the photograph over in hopes he’d find any information; a date, a name, a place, just anything.

Finally, he had a stroke of luck. There was a name written in neat cursive on the back. “Marco?” 

Marco poked his head out of the wall next to him, which definitely made him yelp. “What did you call me?”

"Marco? Is that your name? Which, wow, what a weird name by the way." 

"I’m sure your name isn’t much better."

He frowned heavily, “Mine’s Jean. Jerk.” 

To his surprise, the ghost smiled sweetly down at him. “I guess I’m Marco.” The sadness hadn’t left his voice.

"So, Marco. I think I’m going to be living in this dump for a little bit. Do you mind sharing it? I mean, since I guess you were kinda here first…since you’re…y’know, old and all. Oh but, don’t scare my parents, okay? They’re nice people." 

He laughed again, “I won’t, but I’m not making any promises about your safety.”

"I seriously doubt you can scare me. You’re so…lame.”

He laughed again, “We’ll see. I look forward to trying to best you Jean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at: http://the-chalk-dust-riddle.tumblr.com/post/58225501168/prologue


End file.
